


i just wanted to be like you.

by voirenrose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Eating Disorder, Eating Disorders, Hurt/Comfort, Peter Parker Has Issues, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-16 05:44:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18515095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voirenrose/pseuds/voirenrose
Summary: he just wanted to be better.





	1. i didn't mean for it to get this far.

**Author's Note:**

> •look at the tags. if this will trigger you, don't read. if you think it might trigger you, and you read it, and it does, then don't come after me.  
> •lowercase intentional. it looks nice and is symbolic.  
> •if you think you might have an eating disorder, then please get help. your brain might tell you that you "aren't sick enough" but you deserve help. you deserve to eat and you deserve to live a life unobstructed by the many physical side effects of an eating disorder [heart problems, muscle deterioration, osteoporosis, to name a few of the more serious ones. however, you don't need to get THAT far to get help.]  
> •short chapter to begin with, but they might get longer. depends how i'm feeling.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> peter gets found out by bruce banner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look at the tags. if you think they will trigger you, please don't read this. there will be no individual warnings on each chapter.  
> lowercase intended.  
> some chapters will be longer than this, others might be shorter. it depends on how rushed i am for time. don't expect loads and loads of chapters really quickly though, as i am currently a few weeks away from some pretty important exams.

he didn't mean for it to get this far.

it started off with just breakfast - he woke up late most of the time from studying late into the night, and he just didn't have the time. he couldn't just not study; his scholarship was only valid if he kept good grades, and may wouldn't be able to afford the full fees.

then during lunch break, he had to catch up on homework that he couldn't do because he was out being spider-man. ned's notes that he took helped a lot, but you weren't allowed to bring food into the library, and he'd be fine with being a little hungry rather than losing his scholarship.

by dinnertime, his body had usually stopped giving him signs that he was hungry. of course, whenever he stood up too fast his head span and his vision blacked out for a second, but didn't that happen to everyone?

honestly, he didn't mean for it to get this far.

that's what he tells dr. banner - after he finishes freaking out over meeting the real dr. banner [dr. dr. dr. dr. dr. dr. dr. banner?] - but he doesn't believe him.

"did you not see it? did you not see the weight loss? you're less than one hundred pounds, peter. surely you can see how skinny you are?"

dr. banner is frustrated. the child is practically dying in front of him, and the only things keeping him alive are the ng and iv lines in his body, pumping calories and fluids into him.

unconsciously, peter is wrapping his index finger and thumb around his bicep. the two fingers connect around it, and it gives the boy a sense of relief. the tube feeding him liquid calories is giving him 1500 calories and that's more than peter would eat in a week. he wonders if he will still be allowed to go out as spider-man. he doesn't answer dr. banner's question, though. 

the older man sighs and runs a hand through his hair. he quickly looks around the room - the medbay in the avengers tower, but peter can't remember how he got here - and drags his hand down his face. 

"friday, is anyone near this room?" he asks after a small pause.

"no, dr. banner." a voice with an irish accent replies quietly. it seems to have come from the room itself, rather than speakers. "the nearest person, excluding medical staff, to the medbay is  _mr._ rogers _,_ and he is in the communal living area." 

"look, peter. i need you to tell me what's really going on. tony's really worried, you know? he blames himself for not noticing quickly enough. especially since - don't tell him i told you, by the way - he knows how you feel. as in, the whole eating thing. he's probably working himself half to death because he didn't pick up on the signs that he 'should have noticed' and all that crap. think you'll be okay for a bit while i get him something to eat?"

"could you ask him to come up here? i wanna talk to him for a little bit. if that's okay, of course." peter adds hastily onto the end. mr stark probably wouldn't even want to talk to peter, but it was worth a try. bruce nods, and leaves the room. a small line of light filters through the crack between the door frame and the edge of the door, occasionally being blocked out by a shadow of someone walking by where bruce had left the door cracked slightly open.

after a few minutes, tony came up into the medbay, holding a small white plate of buttered crackers and blueberries. placing them gently down on a table, he pulled a chair from the end of peter's bed and sits next to peter's bed.

"i was- no, i  _am_ really worried about you. when you passed out in the middle of the battle, god, it was like rhodey falling all over again. i can't just stand by and watch you slowly kill yourself like this." tony's voice cracks on the last sentence, and peter feels guilt flood his system.  _he made tony feel like this_. "you either have to tell aunt may, or i will. i know from experience that if you try to handle this on your own, then you'll just fall down the rabbit-hole again."

peter feels his breath quicken at the prospect of telling may. may would be so disappointed in him, and she'd blame herself even though she does so much for him already.

"do i have to? i mean, she's probably already really stressed about her jobs, and we barely have enough money to get food now, let alone any more, may already skips lunch and sometimes dinner just to pay rent as well as have a little bit of money, and i'll be fine, honestly, it's not that bad, i swear. i just got a little dizzy." peter is rambling now, and is anxiously connecting finger and thumb around different parts of his arm. there is a burning sensation in his throat and behind his eyes, but he ignores it and looks down into his lap. "i don't want her to have to spend extra on feeding me when it could go to rent, or school, or electricity. and she doesn't want to ask for help because that means that we have a problem and if we have a problem then may thinks they might take me away."

tony lets the boy speak for a while, and then when there's a pause he interjects. "you think you're not worth the money, right? you think that you're helping may by not eating as much, by telling her you'll eat at school and telling everyone at school you ate a big breakfast, by skipping meals for patrol? you think that the dizziness and the headaches and the stomach pains are worth it, because you're finally _helping someone and doing something good_ , right?" tony doesn't wait for an answer, and he takes the hand that peter has been connecting around his arm and holds it. it's cold, and reminds tony of the years he spent like this. "when you do eat something, you feel guilty, so you package it up and give it to a homeless person or someone like that. eventually, the thought crosses your mind; _how am i even getting energy_ _?_ and the answer is that your body is feeding off your muscles. you don't see it though, so you keep on skipping meals and restricting your intake until someone tells you that 200 calories a day isn't normal or healthy, and that's not even counting your enhanced metabolism. you brush it off, you brush off every single comment that comes your way until you realise one day that you maybe, _just maybe,_ need help."

his eyes are red, now, and peter's are wet. somehow, mr stark seemed to sum up everything that happened, with a freakish sort of accuracy. _he doesn't actually care,_ a voice inside peter's head whispers. he pushes the voice into a box in the corner of his mind, and locks it up.

"i'm sorry." peter whispers as salty tears make his way down his face. tony stark pulls him into a hug, stroking his hand through peter's thin hair. it's not as glossy as it used to be, and he swears he can feel _every bone in the kid's body_ as he pulls him tighter into his chest. "i just wanted to be better- i just wanted to help people, to not fuck everything up for once in my life, maybe to get somebody to actually like me at school, even just as a friend because even ned doesn't want to talk to me anymore. everyone else just seemed so happy and you're always so confident and i _just wanted to be like you-_ "

tony's heart drops into his stomach at the last line, but he swallows deeply before interrupting again. "you don't need to be sorry, kid. it's not your fault. how 'bout you get some rest and we'll talk again in the morning, okay? do you want me to call aunt may and tell her what happened, or do you want to leave it until tomorrow?" he pulls away from the hug, and gently rests peter's head down on the pillow.

"can you call her? i don't know that i'll be able to." he whispers, looking down at tony's knees. the older man runs a hand through peter's hair and nods.

"sure, kid. get some sleep. tell jar- tell friday if you need anything, okay?" tony waits for a couple of moments, before stepping outside the door and sighing heavily. seeing the kid so quiet and  _sick_ reminded him of his mit days, when he didn't care what he did to his body, and went anywhere from a couple of days to a week and a half without food. he still wasn't great with his eating habits, but he was getting better.  _slowly_. however as much as he hated to admit it, being around the kid when he was this sick probably wasn't good for him. it was only when he had gone down the stairs and locked himself into his workshop that he realised he hadn't had the food that bruce had given him. "friday, deactivate protocol mother hen." friday was supposed to alert bruce or pepper, whoever was in the tower at the time, if he hadn't eaten in twenty-four hours.

"are you sure, boss?" friday asked him, hesitating slightly; she was worried for her creator, and him not eating for a couple of days was usually the result of him deactivating this protocol.

"i know, baby girl. but it's fine, i promise. just need to get on top of something, just get a little control, you know what i mean. okay? i've got it under control."

dum-e beeped unhappily as he whirred around the room, and tony could almost hear the sigh in friday's voice. "okay, boss."


	2. he lives and feeds on fear, doesn't he?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> whilst peter's recovery is doing well, tony's making reverse progress.

it's been two months. peter isn't allowed out to be spider-man yet, but he can already tell that he is doing better. he no longer feels guilty after 25 grams of green beans, and whilst he still can't tackle a slice of pizza, he is making leaps and bounds with his recovery.

tony, on the other hand, is slipping. he ignores friday's and dum-e's attempts to get him to eat, and locks bruce out of the lab. he comes up to see how peter is doing, but if he's honest, the kid is triggering as hell. tony remembers how in control he felt in mit, and how the empty feeling of his stomach gave him a rush like nothing else. peter subconsciously wrapping his finger around his bicep gives tony flashbacks to when he could connect his two hands around his thigh with space to spare. he tries it again now, and has about an inch before his thumbs meet.

he punches a mirror after that, and likes the way it hurts.

as bruce is chastising him for not being careful enough [tony told him that he slipped and fell onto a glass panel that dum-e had left out], he realises that he can't focus. he can't tell whether he's floating away from his body or whether he's trapped inside of a prison cell made of flesh and muscle and bone and fat but either way his mind isn't the right size for his head and everything is numb. it's peaceful, almost, but he can feel the anxiety, and the hunger, and all of the other shit that he runs away from bubbling beneath the surface. it's like he's floating on the water of a jacuzzi; he can feel the jets, and he knows that they're there, but they're not actively pushing him out of the water, so what's the point in worrying?

he doesn't realise that bruce is finished until he taps his shoulder a couple of times. are you alright there, tony? he can hear swimming around next to him. he looks up to the face next to him and nods, plastering on the smile that he usually reserves for the media, and walks out, down the six flights of stairs to his workshop. he flexes his newly bandaged hand, and the jolt of pain that shoots up his wrist isn't unwelcome. he should be scared, but he lives and feeds on fear, doesn't he? bringing up a couple of different projects, he flicks through them before deciding to work on a new prototype for rhodey's leg braces.

recovery isn't linear - he knows that, and his therapist tells him that every time he brings his guilt up. he starts to think about getting a new one, because he really needs to get this off his chest but then the fear of having two people know the darkest parts of himself [two more than he'd like] overwhelms his fear of a relapse. it's not even a fear at this point; it's a sultry snake slipping around his neck pretending to be his friend. he understands why thor doesn't want to just get rid of loki - no matter how much trouble he makes, he still is something that he knows. it's the only constant in a world where everything is changing all the time, and he can't keep up. his time is always a beat behind everyone else, and his head is a cottony mess. he briefly wonders if this is what dissociating is, but doesn't - can't - dwell on it for longer, as the thought becomes trapped and intertwined in the threads of cotton before he can properly process it. he flexes his hand again to try and ground himself, even if it only works for a while. he has work to do.

by the next week, tony is losing weight again. he doesn't bother telling his therapist, because all she'd do is say recovery isn't linear and if he has to hear that shit one more time he's going to scream. as he's dizzily tracing his ribs harshly protruding through paper-thin skin, it all comes crashing through, like the crash after a caffeine high. all of the anxiety and fear and sadness that was bubbling underneath him breaks the surface, filling his mouth with the foaming water. he can't breathe properly, and he can't tell whether it's because he is one hundred and ten pounds [bmi of 16.2, his brain supplies] and his body is feeding off his already weak heart, or whether he's having another panic attack over some other shit. his breath is coming in wheezes, and he claws at his throat to try and get some oxygen, but the constricting feeling of his throat is reminding him of when rogers slammed his shield into his arc reactor and broke his ribs and left him there to die of hypothermia or blood loss or something in siberia.

he tries to do his breathing exercises but instead he collapses in a heap next to his chair, clutching at his chest. friday must have alerted somebody, because before he knows it pepper is kneeling down next to him as dum-e is whirring and beeping quickly whilst moving repetitively in circles. she rubs at his back gently, avoiding anywhere near his neck and head. his fingers and lips are tinged blue, and he's about to pass out from oxygen deprivation when he can finally begin to breathe again.

he doesn't want it to get bad again, but it's the only constant he has at the moment.

after a week, he's back to old habits. whenever he's hungry, he either ignores it or allows himself one item [one piece of sweetcorn, one green bean, one potato chip, etc.] until he's on the verge of collapse.

he doesn't have scales, because they were all thrown out after he was hospitalised; he would buy some, but friday was programmed to alert pepper if he tried to order them, or if he tried to override the protocol. dum-e would conveniently 'malfunction' or drop something if he was about to adjust some of the similar protocols, but they couldn't stop him from obsessively measuring his waist, thighs, arms, calves - anything that he could. his bots, no matter how clever they were, couldn't stop him from trying to connect his thumb and index finger around his ankle or counting his ribs. they could snitch on him to pepper however much they liked, but even she recognised there was nothing she could do. she didn't want to bother rhodey, but he was the catalyst in tony's recovery before and they- she needed the old tony back.

//

"hey, tones. pep tells me you aren't doing too good." rhodey speaks quietly, and sits down next to tony on the floor of the lab. his legs aren't completely healed yet, but the braces that tony made for him definitely help. "care to tell me why?"

tony just stares at the floor, tracing the small cracks and grooves in the tiles with a skeletal finger. he doesn't seem to have heard rhodey, or even noticed that he entered. rhodey moves so that he's sitting in front of tony, and gently takes hold of his hands. he rubs gentle circles on the sides of tony’s hands and tries to force down the bile that involuntarily rises in his throat when he can feel every bone and vein bursting through his almost translucent skin. eventually, tony looks up at him, but his eyes are empty. glazed and clouded, the usually shining irises look dirty.

“it’s fine- i’m fine.”

rhodey nods. “sure, sure. that’s why friday told me that you haven’t eaten over 200 in three weeks.” he doesn’t need to specify what 200 is. “do you need me to set up an appointment with your doctor again?” tony shakes his head adamantly, the most he’s moved in six hours. the movement makes his head spin and his vision dance with black spots, but there’s no chance of him falling over as he’s sitting. 

“i stopped seeing her,” tony whispers in rhodey’s ear, like a dirty secret shared between high schoolers. “she wouldn’t stop saying _that_.” he has ranted so many times to rhodey that he knows what he means.

“we could find someone else?” rhodey offers. he doubts that tony will take up his offer, but a man can hope, right? “you know, peter’s a little bit worried. he wanted to come and see you - we told him you were feeling under the weather – but we didn’t want to trigger a relapse. you do know you look like death, right?” both men crack a smile, but tony’s is slightly forced.

“is he- how’s he doing?” trust tony to think of peter before himself.

“he’s fine. averaging about a four pound gain every month, so he’s still underweight but not as badly as before.” 

they sit in silence for a few minutes, before tony speaks again.

“do i look like i did at mit?” he doesn’t know what he wants the answer to be. part of him wants to be able to enjoy a meal without throwing up afterwards (voluntarily or involuntarily), but another part of him wants to test his limits and see what breaks first – him, or his control. he knows that he should try to ignore it, but all too often the voices intertwine and it’s harder to see which voice is which.

rhodey looks at him carefully, before shaking his head. “close, but not yet. did you realise it was getting bad again or did someone have to tell you?” tony gives a half-hearted shrug; he’s tired and just wants to sleep right now, and rhodey realizes this. he helps get tony to his feet, and leads him to a bedroom nearby. “get some rest, and i’ll speak to you tomorrow.” 

once the door is closed, he slides down until he is sitting against the wooden board. It pains him to see his best friend in this stage – his best friend who should be in the lab working and smiling, not starving himself until he collapses. 

“mr. rhodes? is mr. stark okay?” peter is standing in the corridor, watching silently. he bears a painful resemblance to tony – the way they both act as if they’re leaning against the wall when they’re supporting 80% of their weight in case somehow the wall breaks against their weight.

“yeah, yeah. he will be.”

 


End file.
